Inside the Hall of Supreme Harmony, candle flames flickered.
The imperial physician knelt before the throne, his fingers resting on Zhao Heng's wrist as fine beads of sweat seeped across his brow.
The Emperor's breathing had steadied considerably, and some color had returned to his face, but he remained unconscious.
"Your Highness," the imperial physician said slowly, "His Majesty's soul was previously struck by an external force, causing it to be shaken and scattered. Fortunately, Count of Southern Suppression acted to stabilize it. Otherwise..."
He did not continue.
Crown Prince Zhao Zhao stood beside the throne, one hand on his sword hilt, his gaze cold and sharp. "Can he be cured?"
"He can." The imperial physician nodded.
"His Majesty's soul is no longer in danger of dispersing. He only needs quiet recuperation, supplemented by acupuncture to clear his meridians.
With medicine to calm the mind and stabilize the soul, he will recover in time. It is only..."
He paused, carefully choosing his words.
"It is only that His Majesty is already advanced in years. Damage to the soul is unlike physical injury, and recovery will be slower.
This subject boldly recommends that His Majesty rest and recuperate for at least three months. During that time, he must not overexert himself, worry, or become angered."
Zhao Zhao fell silent for a moment, then waved a hand. "Carry His Majesty back to his chambers. Have the entire Imperial Medical Academy consult together. His Majesty must recover as soon as possible."
Several attendants carefully lifted Zhao Heng onto a sedan chair. The imperial physician hurried alongside them, carrying a medicine chest in his hands.
The sedan chair passed through the side door of the Hall of Supreme Harmony and vanished into the depths of the corridor.
A deathly silence filled the hall.
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